


If we last to the winter

by Jordie_Vinterberg



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting (at least sort of), Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 06:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16781455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jordie_Vinterberg/pseuds/Jordie_Vinterberg
Summary: It is hard to trust a stranger in a world full of cruelty and loneliness.It is hard to trust a stranger if you have lost everyone you loved.But - although Sansa is scared to admit it - you have to trust someone if you want to make it through the winter.Stannis might just be broken enough to understand.Or: The post-apocalyptic Stansa AU you didn't know you needed.





	If we last to the winter

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here I am - late to the party, as always, and writing things that I am probably going to rot in hell for. Right ... nevermind. 
> 
> This is just my own humble contribution to the abundance of great stories that exist for this ship and that I have very much enjoyed over the last couple of months, until I finally decided to write my own and hopefully give something back.  
> I am new to this archive, although not new to writing itself, and as English is not my first language, I would really appreciate it if you pointed out some major mistakes that this work may or may not contain so I can fix them.  
> I hope you like it and thanks for reading!

I

#### Our minds and pockets full of dust

***

The rain did not stop. The night was aging silently, blurring into an endless stretch of sleepless hours and starless skies.

***

It had been four years – four years since that virus in the rain had killed almost everyone, four years since she had lost her home, her parents, her family. Four years of survival.  
And yet, she now found herself at a dead end. She did not know how to go on.  
(She did not know why to go on.)

Twenty-six days ago, the rain had taken Theon, another lone survivor whom Sansa had been travelling with for over a year, after they had managed to escape the claws of Ramsay Bolton and his cronies once and for all. Theon had been her friend – the only one she had left in this world.  
And still, she had had to watch him die – slowly, painfully, unbearably cruel – tossing and turning on the ground, screaming wordlessly, streams of blood seeping out of his mouth, eyes and nose while the virus destroyed his brain.  
All because a single drop of rainwater had hit his forehead.  
It was a nightmare.  
There had not been any bullets left in her pistol, and so Sansa had stood there, feeling utterly helpless, utterly useless, unable to leave him until it was over while simultaneously wanting nothing more than to run away and never come back, unable to close her eyes and yet terrified of watching him suffer.

Sometimes she wondered if it truly was as painful as it looked. Dying.  
(Was it as painful as living?)

Twenty-six days and four years and time did not seem to matter anymore. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. She had not seen a single soul since Theon had died – she had buried him alone and then wandered off, aimlessly, hopelessly, through silent forests and abandoned villages, over sleeping hills and empty roads, through a deserted country that had once been brimming with life.  
(Sometimes these days Sansa wondered if she was all alone in the world.)  
Summer had long since faded and the clouds had turned grey, frosty winds howling like wolves during the nights with nobody to answer their calls. The leaves falling from the trees were as red as Sansa's hair. 

***

The rain did not stop. The night threw long shadows under blackened skies.

***

Sometimes Sansa wondered why she of all members of her family had been the one to survive.  
Not her father, who was strong and just; not her mother, who would have done everything to protect the ones she held dear and who knew a great deal about treating wounds and illnesses; not Robb, who was fiercely loyal and a skilled hunter; not Jon, who was quick-witted and good with any weapon; not Bran, who knew practically everything; not little Rickon, who was as wild as a wolf; not even Arya, who loved fighting and climbing trees – all of them would have been better suited for a situation like this.  
But now it was Sansa who had to deal with it all on her own; Sansa, the kind-hearted, dreamy girl that had believed in her fairy-tales of beautiful princesses and knights in shining armour until it was too late.  
(Although sometimes she wondered if it were these stories that had saved her, in the end.)  
(They were a safe place for her to seek refuge when reality got too harsh.)  
(She had stopped believing in them long ago.)  
(There were no knights.)  
(She was no princess.)  
(Not anymore.)

She had not abandoned her dreams, not completely, but they were buried deep inside her, preserved for a better future. Just in case she would live long enough to see it.  
Over the course of time, she had learnt to be grateful for smaller things.

Today, she was grateful for having found shelter before the rain started again. The old barn was far from comfortable, sure – the doors would not close properly, so with every gust of wind the cold seeped further into her bones – but at the very least it was dry, and Sansa found the smell of hay oddly comforting, reminding her of warm summer evenings spent with her siblings in the stables of Winterfell.  
She had slept in places much worse than this.

It was dark and she was freezing, but she did not light a fire. She was afraid of burning everything down whilst she was sleeping, hay and all.  
(When Theon had still been alive, one of them had always watched the fire at night. But now she was alone, and she had to make the best of it. She was hardly doing anyone a favour by getting herself killed – on purpose or by accident.)  
(She did not make it this far to give up.)  
(She had to believe there was a reason.)  
(She had to live.)  
Sansa sighed, took off her boots and her jacket and crawled into her sleeping bag, feeling exhausted and drained of any life she had left. There was no point in staying up all night and keeping watch if she was the only one out here – she was almost glad for it.  
She closed her eyes and quickly succumbed to a dreamless sleep.

***

Shortly after, the rain did stop. The night hid under a blanket of mist and slate-blue skies.

***

Sansa woke to a colourless dawn, shivering from the cold. She put on her jacket as soon as she got up, then dug around in her backpack for her scarf and something to eat. There was not much left: only a packet of nuts, some chocolate, salted herrings and a tin of beans. Nothing any sane person would want for breakfast. Due to a lack of alternatives, she settled for some nuts, quietly reminding herself of looking through a few of the houses in the village before she left again – maybe she could find something there.  
(She had to.)  
She then packed her belongings and climbed down the ladder where her boots were waiting for her.

The barn looked quite different in daylight. Sansa had barely been capable of seeing anything when she had come here last night, but now she noticed, suddenly frightened, that in one of the previously dark corners there was another backpack.  
But when she tried to grab her boots and run – one could never be careful enough – she heard the click of a rifle right beside her ear.  
“Hands up where I can see them.”  
_No_ , she thought, paralysed, lifting her hands very slowly.

“What do you want?”, a gruff voice demanded. “Why did you follow me?”  
Was that guy insane? “I didn't follow you”, Sansa stammered, cursing herself for her foolishness. _Of course_ she was not alone. _Of course_ there had to be some kind of violent lunatic to find her. “I don't even know you!”  
“And what are you doing here, then?” The voice did not sound convinced.  
“I was only looking for shelter from the rain last night! I didn't know there was someone else here!”  
Sansa felt her knees tremble. She did not even have anything to defend herself – the pistol was in her backpack, but the magazine was still empty. _Gods, have mercy._  
“Where are the others?”  
“I'm … I'm alone.” She closed her eyes, terrified of what he would make of that information.  
“I don't believe you.” The stranger ground his teeth, managing to sound even more threatening.  
“I'm alone, I swear!” Sansa tried to banish the memories of Ramsay Bolton from her mind, but they kept flashing right before her eyes, and she caught herself wishing desperately that they were not the last thing she would see in this life.  
“I didn't mean to harm you”, she added quietly. “And I don't know you, so there's no reason for me to lie.”  
He remained silent for a while, considering her words.

 _Perhaps he'll let me leave_ , she thought despite herself. _They can't all be thieves and rapists and murderers, right?_

And finally, she heard him lower the rifle and take a step back. “Apologies”, he said stiffly.  
Cautiously, not quite trusting his words, Sansa turned around.  
Her initial fear and the memories of Ramsay had tricked her into imagining the stranger to be some kind of brutish youngster, sturdy and muscular, used to beating up people and getting what he wanted, but the man in front of her looked exactly the opposite. He was tall, pale and thin (not attractive-thin, but brink-of-starvation-thin), and with his rather large nose, dark blue eyes and ruffled grey hair he looked more like a professor, a soldier or perhaps a lawyer. (Maybe even an artist, if you took his ill-fitting jumper and the owlish expression on his face into consideration.)  
In other words: He certainly gave the impression of someone willing to do whatever he needed in order to survive. But he did not give the impression of someone pointing rifles at young women for his own amusement.  
Actually, he seemed to be almost as scared of her as she was of him.

Carefully, Sansa put on her boots and reached for her backpack, never letting him out of sight. He observed her just as closely, but did not make a move to stop her.  
Time to leave, she thought.  
But even before she reached the door, she could smell the rain, and when she peered outside, she knew she was going nowhere anytime soon.  
(And maybe, somewhere deep inside, she was glad that she had an excuse to stay.)  
(She had been alone for so long.)

“I'm Sansa.” She offered the stranger a smile and her hand, and reluctantly, he took both, holding her hand in his long, bony fingers like he did not really know what to do with it – perhaps he had forgotten such courtesies long ago, or maybe he had never cared for them in the first place.  
“Stannis”, he said, and from that day on they travelled together.

***

At first, Sansa was doubtful that the odd partnership they had formed would last particularly long.  
Stannis flinched whenever she accidentally touched him, he scowled a lot and was not exactly talkative. After a week of travelling with him, she knew basically nothing about him, not even why he was limping on his right leg. Sometimes it felt like she was talking to a wall.  
(A grumpy, scowling wall.)  
_Great._

But even though Stannis was difficult, he was the only human being she had left in this world, and so she started talking to him. In the beginning, it was pure stubbornness – she wanted to irritate him as much as she could to finally provoke a reaction – but after a while, she found herself actually enjoying it. She talked about everything that came to mind: the weather, literature, religion, lemon cakes …  
She even told him about her family, shared memories of her childhood. And although he scarcely said a word, Sansa came to the conclusion that he liked listening to her tales as well.  
He was still closed-off and she was still not sure if he had ever learnt how to smile. But they had come to an understanding, it seemed. Despite their differences, they had grown on each other quite like moss on a tree: unbidden and unexpected and yet not entirely unwelcome.  
Sansa still thought they would go their separate ways once a better opportunity presented itself. But again, she was wrong.

***

Nearly a month went by until they met some other survivors. By then, the trees had lost all their leaves and the days had become shorter, the nights darker.  
One evening, when they had just found an old cottage in which to spend the night, Stannis suddenly sprang to his feet. “There's someone outside.” He grabbed his rifle and limped out the door before Sansa could stop him.  
“Idiot”, she muttered and hurried after him. He was about to scare somebody to death, she could practically feel it.  
And she was right.

There were three people trembling in the twilight outside the house: a large young man who looked like he had lost too much weight in too little time, an exhausted, ragged woman with mousy brown hair who was about Sansa's age, and a small child, not older than three, that was clutching desperately at his mother's arm. Sansa instantly made three important observations.  
Number one: They were absolutely terrified.  
Number two: They were probably the least-threatening people she had ever seen in her entire life.  
Number three: Stannis frowned at them like he was ready to murder them all.

 _Time for de-escalation._ She shot her travel companion a disapproving glance before smiling apologetically at the couple and their child. “Nice to meet you”, she greeted them as friendly as she could muster, trying to make up for Stannis' uncivil behaviour. They all relaxed noticeably, the little boy even smiled back at her. “I'm Sansa”, she said, “and who are you?”

The whole encounter felt a bit like a déjà vu. After the strangers had recovered from having a rifle pointed at their heads, Sansa invited them to stay for the night. They seemed nice enough (although still somewhat frightened), the sky had already darkened with the promise of more rain, and they looked so tired and worn that she simply could not bear turning them away because of no other reason than Stannis being paranoid.  
They had to hold onto their humanity, especially in times like these. They had to help one another. 

Their names were Sam, Gilly and little Sam, the chubby man explained. There was a kindness to him that Sansa would have found rare even in her old life, but now she marvelled at his soft eyes and the naïve hopefulness with which he perceived the world. It was an extraordinary trait in a survivor that she wished she possessed herself, and it was entirely beyond her how such a gentle soul had managed to live through the cruelty of the last four years.  
Gilly was more reserved, and she regarded her son, who had taken a shine to Sansa, with the fear of someone who had once trusted the wrong kind of people and suffered the consequences. Her answers were short and anxious, but eventually, she quietly told Sansa that they were on their way south, in hopes of making it to one of the bigger cities before they would starve or freeze to death in the loneliness up north.  
Sansa nodded – little Sam already looked small and far too thin for his age – but Stannis shook his head. “You shouldn't”, he said bluntly. “They'll kill you in the south – if your boy even makes the journey. The cities are crowded with survivors, and they only care about themselves. They'll kill you and they'll take everything you have if it helps them survive a little longer. Go south and you're dead within two days.”  
Sam and Gilly stared at him in horror. Sansa was too stunned to say a word.  
Stannis shrugged and got to his feet. “I'll keep watch.”  
The door fell shut behind him, leaving the others in shocked silence.

“Well …” Sam gave a weak laugh. “He's just like my father.”  
Judging by the expression on Gilly's face, Sansa assumed that was not exactly a compliment.  
_Seven hells_ , she thought. _How can anyone be so careless?_ Though strangely enough, she felt the urge to defend Stannis.  
“He's just … bad with people”, she said, carefully choosing her next words. “I'm sure he didn't mean to … offend anyone.”  
“I don't know, Sansa”, Sam told her with raised eyebrows, having apparently overcome his fear. “I think he simply skipped 'offensive' and went for 'downright scary' instead.”  
Gilly blinked at them incredulously. “I can't believe you're joking about the man who promised us three minutes ago that we're all going to die.”  
“Well”, said Sam, and then they all started to laugh, either out of pure desperation or because they simply had to.

Eventually, little Sam yawned. He looked so tired that Sansa pitied him silently for having to be a child in a time that was not meant for children. His parents did not look much better.  
“You should get some rest”, she told them. “You'll be safe tonight.”  
Sam cast her a worried glance. “Shouldn't I be keeping watch?”, he asked as if he very much dreaded the idea. “You know, me being a man and all.”  
Sansa smiled. “Sleep. I'll see to the rest.”  
It was the least she could do for them. She knew they needed it.

And a few minutes later, when they were all huddled together on the floor, sleeping peacefully, she felt a pang of jealousy while she regarded them. It was the end of the world, but they still had each other. They still had a family.  
Sansa was not even sure if she still knew what it was like to be this close to another person.  
(She missed her home.)  
(She missed her family.)  
(She missed someone she could trust.)

***

The rain did not stop. The night was dark and full of terrors.

***

She found Stannis under the canopy by the entrance, standing still as stone, rifle slung over his shoulder. He did not move when she opened the door – he only stood there, almost melting into the shadows, watching the murky hills in the distance with narrowed eyes.  
“What do you want?”  
_Tell me_ , Sansa thought. _Tell me you're not the monster people think you are._  
“Why did you say that?”, she asked instead. “Why did you tell them they' re going to die?”  
“There's no point in lying.”  
His answer infuriated her a little. “Stannis, you can't go around and tell people they're going to kill their child if they keep moving!”  
“But they are”, he said stubbornly, grinding his teeth. “You've seen the boy, haven't you? He isn't going to make it through the winter. Either he'll freeze to death in the north or they'll kill him in the south, along with his parents. He's going to die anyway. So why should these two fools die with him?”  
“Yes, why should they?”, she hissed. “Maybe because they care for each other – because they don't want to give up on their child? But how would you know!”

When she saw the blue of his eyes harden at these words, Sansa knew immediately she had said the wrong thing. But now it was too late, she could not take it back anymore, and Stannis stared at her wildly, his jaw tightening, his lips pressed into a sharp line.  
“I had a daughter”, he said, tone dangerously low. “She was with me when the rain started. I tried to get her out of the city, but we got captured by a group of … religious fanatics. They thought I was useful, so they kept me alive. But Shireen …” He swallowed, turning his head away from her.  
Sansa looked at him and did not know what to do. Should she say something? Hug him, perhaps? But she knew Stannis did not like to be touched, even in case he would let her.  
(He was not the kind of man you could touch without asking.)  
(He was the kind of man you could watch suffer from afar.)  
So she just stood there, next to him yet worlds apart, and waited patiently for him to speak again.  
“She was only nine”, he said, and something in his voice cracked at that. “They saw no reason to drag her along, so they … tied her to a tree and waited for the rain.” He squeezed his eyes shut, a picture of hopelessness and defeat.

He did not say anything else after that, nor did he cry, but he did not have to. Tears welled up in Sansa's eyes without warning – tears for Stannis and his daughter, tears for her own parents and siblings, for Sam and Gilly and their boy, for this whole wretched universe and everyone they had lost, tears for the fairy-tales that never came true.  
“Oh, Stannis”, she whispered. “I didn't know that.”  
There was something so helpless and crestfallen in the way he hunched his shoulders that it made Sansa's heart ache.  
_Maybe he doesn't care too little_ , she thought suddenly. _Maybe he cares too much. He's just unable show it._  
And before she could talk herself out of it, she slipped her hand into his, holding her breath. Stannis winced sharply, much like she had expected him to, but to her surprise he did not pull away. For a moment he hesitated, looking utterly out of his depth. Then she felt his cold, shaky fingers curl around hers.

***

The rain did not stop. The night was a river that carried her to the sea.

***

In the end, Sansa did not know whether it truly was that night that made her say no the next morning, when Gilly quietly asked her to go south with them. Or perhaps it had been there already, that strange sensation of not feeling alone anymore, coming to mind only then because she was forced to make a decision.  
During the last month, Sansa had often wondered why Stannis stayed with her. Despite his crippled leg, he had seemed to get on just fine on his own, and he was not exactly the social type. She had imagined simply waking up one day to find him gone. But whatever his reasons – he stayed.  
He made her breakfast in the morning and let her sleep when she was tired even if it was her turn to keep watch. He gave her one of the hunting knives that had once belonged to his brother and patiently listened to her talk. He did not leer at her, did not treat her any differently because she was a woman. As brooding and bitter as he might be, Sansa was fairly comfortable with him, and, in a way, she realised, he had become her friend.  
They both had their trust issues, obviously, but maybe they could be good for one another. Maybe they needed someone by their side.  
Sam and Gilly on the other hand were kind and cheerful people, no doubt, but they already had each other. They already had a family. They did not need Sansa to watch their fire or wake them from their nightmares. They were not lonely. They did not need her as a friend.  
(Stannis did.)  
_He hasn't left me_ , she told herself what she had known all along. _I won't leave him._

***

So when he asked her “What’d she want?”, as they were quietly watching the little family disappear into the misty chill of the morning, she just shook her head, a faint smile spreading on her face.  
“Did you really think you’d get rid of me that easily?”  
Stannis’ voice was as dry as ever. “A man can hope, can’t he?”  
But when Sansa turned to look at him, there was a strange gleam in his eyes – like pale fingers of sunlight finally reaching beyond a veil of rainclouds.


End file.
